


Lobster Biscuit

by Scarlet_Ribbons



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Date-Crashing, Identity Reveal, M/M, Non-con touching, Peter is not having a good time, but luckily DP is there to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Ribbons/pseuds/Scarlet_Ribbons
Summary: Peter goes on a terrible,terribledate, cashes in a favor on behalf of Spider-Man, and begs Deadpool to crash it.Deadpool delivers.





	Lobster Biscuit

**Author's Note:**

> I just can’t help myself with these two.

"I ordered you the lobster bisque," the dude says arrogantly. He has a face like the end of a loaf of bread, and every time Peter looks away from him, he forgets how he looks and has to look back. He’s done this three times, and he still couldn’t pick- Tom? Tim? Luke? -out of a line-up.

 

"I," Peter is just appalled. "Why did you order my food for me?" He looks like a wreck after running pretty much all the way from Stark Tower, he knows, and he’d stepped into the bathroom to fix a few flyaways in this _outrageously_ fancy restaurant. And in the meantime, Tom-Tim-Luke has ordered him a dish he doesn’t even... Know anything about. He's never eaten food fancy enough to be called things like _bisque_.

 

“Because you weren’t here,” Douche McDoucherson (DM) has the audacity to huff. “It’s my favorite, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Don’t make a scene.” He flaps his hand in Peter’s direction like Peter is a particularly petulant child, and his frustration with the evening and DM grows.

 

It’s not _really_ MJ’s fault; the guy‘s online dating profile hadn’t screamed anything too suspicious, at least nothing bad enough to spark any red flags. But who brings their first date to _Saveur?_  It’s a posh French restaurant _entirely_ out of Peter’s pay grade, internship notwithstanding, that Peter is wholly under-dressed for. He doesn’t blame the servers for turning their noses up when they look at him in what he'd thought was acceptable wear- khakis and a nice navy sweater; he’s only been here for a few moments and he’s already seen one senator, a famous Hollywood couple, and a generally well-known talk show host. Turns out his date is an inheritance kid, which wouldn't have _inherently_ made him a bad person, but...

 

“How... did you even get reservations?” Peter asks as he takes a proper look at the array of fancy and very varied silverware in front of him and tries not to panic. There are like...  _four_ different spoons. His hands are clammy and he can’t stop wiping his palms down on his thighs compulsively. He's already stealthily texted MJ, who's at a show and so obviously doesn't respond, May, who is at work and definitely doesn't respond, and even Tony, who... Just doesn't respond because he probably thinks it's funny. He's on the verge of thinking _fuck it_ and texting every contact one by one to _save him_ , when DM, like a posturing bird of paradise, _audibly_ rolls his eyes at Peter's question. 

 

"Oh please, Peter, now I'm just insulted. As if I couldn't get a reservation for this... This _street_ fare. Listen, you seem like a nice person," DM says, a particularly annoying and condescending expression on his face, and Peter blanches when he feels DM reach over underneath the table, his hand crossing the entirely too-short table width to rest against Peter's knee. Immediately, Peter is uncomfortable- uncomfortable enough for his Spidey sense to thrum lightly at the base of his spine, his heart rate increasing as he stares pointedly at DM. "But I think we both know your assets. I mean," he frowns at Peter arrogantly. "You're crazy smart and pretty hot- maybe not, like in a conventional way. But decently," he tacks on as an afterthought. 

 

Peter isn't sure of the expression on his face, but he knows it's not good. 

 

DM is rambling about something as Peter frantically glances down at his phone again. He scrolls once more through his contacts when, absurdly, his eyes fall on _Dead_. At the time he'd created Deadpool's contact, he thought it would've been funny to put Deadpool in as Dead Pool, which was stupid, yeah, but _why not_. The phone is, of course, Spider-Man's phone as well, which means if he texts Deadpool...

 

**To: Dead**

**Deadpool.**

 

The reply is almost instantaneous. Peter almost cries with relief. 

 

**From: Dead**

**what's up, spooder-babe?**

 

**To: Dead**

**I'm cashing in a favor.**

 

**From: Dead**

**tell me who I need to kill, sweet thang.**

**To: Dead**

**Firstly, no killing, and secondly, it's not for me. I'm, uh, kinda tied up with some bad guys- nothing I can't handle, but a friend of mine, Peter, needs to get out of a shit date. I'm the designated emergency friend.**

 

**From: Dead**

**i'd do anything to help you, but that doesn't really seem like my thing, honey**

 

DM squeezes Peter's lower thigh  _very_ inappropriately. Peter tenses, the motion evident in his shoulders, but DM prattles on about how sexy intelligence is, not even bothering to _notice_ how much Peter doesn't want to be touched. His palm is uncomfortably warm, even worse than Peter's own. Peter tries to get his leg free, but DM's gripping him intentionally, with no regard to Peter's growing discomfort. He has no idea where his super strength went, because he could break DM's wrist and get away, but... 

 

**To: Dead**

**Deadpool, please. The guy is getting handsy and Peter is really uncomfortable. I would go but I can't get away. Please.**

**From: Dead**

**ain't gotta beg me, babe, I'll go. where is he?**

**To: Dead**

**Saveur**

 

Peter tucks his phone away just as DM's refocusing his attention. "Ah, _finally_ , our food is here." 

 

"Yeah..." Peter says hesitantly, just as a bowl of lobster bisque is set down in front of him. He has no idea what lobster bisque even _is_.. it looks like some sort of pinkish soup, perhaps? He watches DM dip what must be a soup spoon or something into the bisque, and he mimics him uncomfortably, only to find that, after one bite of the dish, he definitely doesn't like lobster bisque. 

 

"What the _fuck_ is this?" DM cries out, and Peter cringes, only momentarily thankful for the hand leaving his thigh as DM furiously flags down the waiter. Peter hadn't liked the waiter all that much based on how judgmentally he was looking at Peter from the moment he walked in, but he does feel bad for him when DM rips into him with a ferocity Peter has only prior seen in women with suburban bobs in retailers. "How dare you serve me this? Did you use _frozen lobster meat?"_

 

Peter is _mortified_. He shrinks back, dropping his spoon so that it sinks into the lobster bisque. He kind of wishes he could sink down into the lobster bisque, too, even though he doesn't like it that much. That's still preferable to being a part of  _this._

 

"And you were going to let my date eat this too!" DM gestures violently at Peter, who can feel his face go about as red as the lobster they probably put in this bisque. Oh, hell. "I wouldn't feed my dog this swill! I will have you know that I am paying considerable amounts of money for a fantastic dinner," he blathers on, and Peter makes sympathetic eye contact with the waiter before they both look at DM, "And I will _not_ be embarrassed with this poor excuse for a bisque!" He shoves the bowl at the waiter, spilling some of the bisque onto the poor man's impeccably shiny black shoes, before snapping his fingers at Peter. "Peter, give him your bowl." 

 

Peter's mouth opens and closes in shock. He could pass out, right now, he could _definitely_ pass out-

 

"I should have known that the cutie-patootiest person in the whole place was Spidey's friend!" Peter jerks in shock as a hand lands on the arm of his chair, and he has never, _ever_ been so _fucking happy_ to see Deadpool. He follows the line of Deadpool's muscular arm up to his face, all but sagging in relief as he reverently and gravely whispers, 

 

"Deadpool, I could _kiss_ you." 

 

Deadpool blinks at him in surprise, and the mask dips as he grins broadly at Peter. "Aw, you. You're cute. You, on the other hand..." He straightens, his smile a little darker as he stares at DM. "You kinda look like the end piece of a loaf of bread." 

 

" _Right?_ " Peter cries out, snapping his mouth shut when DM shoots him a hideous look. "I mean... That's, uh, rude," he coughs over Deadpool's snicker. 

 

"I will _not_ be insulted by a- a- a costumed lunatic!" DM squawks, obviously not recognizing Deadpool... Much to his own demise. He's starting to turn just as red as Peter, but in an entirely different way. "Come on, Peter, we're leaving." 

 

"I'm not surprised he doesn't recognize me," Deadpool murmurs vaguely, just above Peter's ear. "It must be hard to notice anything around you when your head is that far up your own ass." 

 

Peter snorts loudly, then makes a protesting noise when DM grabs his upper arm and bodily pulls him out of his seat like he's disciplining a rowdy child. "I will be calling my father's attorney to deal with you, freak!" he spits at Deadpool, in a movement of incredibly brazen stupidity, but his bravado seems to dissolve entirely when he finds himself looking down the barrel of one of Deadpool's pistols. Understandably. 

 

"Listen, douchebag," Deadpool sounds bored. "You're not even the most disgusting thing I've had to look at today, but I kinda got a problem with unwanted touching, so." He nudges DM's hand with the barrel of his pistol, and DM whimpers attractively. "You can let go so Peter can leave, or you can not let go, and Peter will leave with your hand.... And not necessarily the rest of you. "

 

DM makes the correct decision and releases Peter's arm, cursing the whole way out the door. Deadpool tosses a couple bills on the table before nudging Peter with one shoulder. 

 

"Friends in high places, huh Petey-Pie?" 

 

"Don't," Peter groans. "I couldn't remember his name so I was just calling him Douche McDoucherson in my head. I've never been on a date with a bigger asshat, but that's probably just ... Parker luck at his finest." As Deadpool's shoulders shake with silent laughter, Peter stares at the bisque, stomach grumbling, wondering whether he should just put aside self-preservation because he's so damn _hungry_. It just occurs to him that he didn't eat breakfast _or_ lunch in lieu of working in the lab, and... "Oh, fuck, let me pay for part of that," he scrambles for his wallet, but Deadpool curls his fingers around Peter's hand. Non-obtrusively and hesitant, easy to move away from if Peter's uncomfortable. God, Deadpool can be so sweet. 

 

"Don't worry about it, Petey!" Deadpool guides him out, away from the lobster bisque, and Peter's stomach grumbles. _Loudly_. "Oh, damn, let's get some food in you. None of that... Lobster biscuit shit. And by the way, I didn't mean that douchebag when I say friends in high places, I meant Spidey." 

 

Peter doesn't bother correcting him, because he just wants to put the whole evening's unpleasantness out of his mind. "You don't have to take me for food, Deadpool. You've done a lot for me, I really..." He swallows. "Really, really appreciate it." Deadpool must read the memory of discomfort in Peter's face, because he clears his throat loudly and gestures down the street. 

 

"It's nothing, Petey-pie. A friend of Spidey's is a friend of mine," he says cheerfully. "And that guy deserved a verbal beat-down and some light threatening. Either way, there's food out there that's cheaper _and_ way more delicious than lobster biscuit. There's a food truck here that some buddies of mine run, it has just. The _greatest_ gorditas." He groans, low and sinful, and Peter is frankly a little embarrassed at how his body reacts to the sound. "Oh, here we go." 

 

It turns out that Deadpool's buddies are a kind, elderly couple that sells authentic Mexican food. They're way nicer and way less judgmental than the staff at _Saveur_ , and Miguel even compliments him in a friendly burst of Spanish while his husband prepares Deadpool's usual in the back of the truck. There's an amazing smell wafting from that direction, too, and Peter's stomach just responds even _more_. 

 

"He said you're cute, and asked you what you're doing with a crazy person like me," Deadpool translates for Peter cheerfully, outright purring when he takes the paper baskets from Carlos. "Oh, Carlos, _gracias_ ," he moans salaciously, and Carlos winks at Peter before gesturing that he follow Deadpool to the picnic tables nearby. 

 

"He is a good person," Miguel says warmly, and Peter smiles brightly as he takes two paper baskets with fresh fruit and churros. 

 

"I know," he whispers, leaning in conspiratorially. "But don't tell him I said that." 

 

They laugh as he heads for the table and sits down, and Deadpool, who's rolled his mask up to his nose, blinks curiously as he takes a large bite of a gordita. "What did you say to them?" 

 

Peter shrugs as he munches on a truly wonderful elote. "Holy shit, Carlos and Miguel know what's up," he sighs, licking his lips as a pleased shiver runs down his spine. It's a warm but not muggy night, and there aren't that many people around... Which Peter kind of likes. Above the picnic tables are pretty lights strung around the street lamps, the glow bright as it bounces off of Deadpool's mask. The fresh air almost wipes away the unpleasantness of evening, and Deadpool's chattering on about something that Peter can half listen to while he's chowing down, something about Spidey...

 

He tunes in to the conversation all too late, just as Deadpool's saying, "Oh, I should call Spidey and let him know you're safe!" 

 

"Wa-" he starts, almost choking on his mouthful of corn. Superhuman reflexes don't keep him from silencing his phone before it begins to ring. Deadpool's ringtone is _Hips Don't Lie._ The merc's eyes snap up to his, there's a glimmer of confusion first, and realization chasing it a moment later. 

 

Silence befalls the two of them as Shakira croons from Peter's phone. _Shit_. 

 

Deadpool leans in, his expression indiscernible. "Go on, answer it," he says cheerfully. Peter isn't sure whether to scream or start laughing hysterically. He pulls his phone out, pressing the answer button before lifting it to his ear. 

 

"Hello, Deadpool," he says, wincing when he hears his own voice coming from the speaker of Deadpool's phone. Deadpool raises an eyebrow; he's just got to be fucking with him at this point. 

 

"Hey, Spidey." Deadpool rumbles, low and downright seductive in Peter's ear as he stares him down. Peter feels like sentient Jell-O. "I saved your buddy Peter from that douchebag. I gotta tell you, though. _Hips Don't Lie?_ I don't hold a _torch_ to that sexy Colombian. She could hip-check me into the next century. I'm thinking more, _Dancing Queen_?" 

 

Peter leans in. "Deadpool, you're not seventeen," he says very gravely, in his best _Spider-Man_ voice. "There's only one year in your life where you can have _Dancing Queen_ as your ringtone, and I'm sorry, but that time has most _definitely_ passed for you." 

 

"You little shit," Deadpool finally laughs, shaking his head. "Oh my God, Spidey is a cute _nerd_. Just look at you!" Peter flushes at the praise, and Deadpool sighs. "What the fuck is New York's darling, smexy webslinger doing going on dates with douchebags?"

 

"Ugh, Deadpool," Peter complains, his shoe bouncing off of Deadpool's muscular calf lightly. "My friend set me up. Speaking of.." His voice lowers as his phone floods with concerned messages from MJ. He quickly taps one out. 

 

**To: mj**

**Everything's fine, sorry to startle you. Got tf away from there, he was just a giant douchebag.**

 

**From: mj**

**I'm so sorry, Peter :( You okay?**

 

Peter looks up at Deadpool, who's scarfing down his gordita and chattering at a mile a minute, unbothered by Peter's lack of response. He finds himself smiling in an all too dopey sort of way. 

 

**To: mj**

**You know what? I think I really am.**

 

“So,” Peter puts his phone down, flashing another megawatt smile at Deadpool, who grins back. “Business proposal: Spider-Man and Deadpool, Date-Crashers Extraordinaire...”

**Author's Note:**

> I would totally call on Date-Crashers Spider-Man and Deadpool to get me out of horrible dates, btw. That's only semi-joking, too. Can you just imagine?
> 
> Let me know what y'all think!
> 
> (I also have a tumblr, now! Gimme a follow and I'll follow back: [here!](https://silky-scarlet-ribbons.tumblr.com/))


End file.
